


Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Legend!

by DoreyG



Category: Pokemon Mystery Dungeon
Genre: Exploration Guild, Future Fic, Gen, Legends, Origin Story, Saving Pokemon!, Saving the World, Yuletide 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:30:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2718839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Legend!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paralianBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paralianBlue/gifts).



She’s nervous.

“What are you nervous about?” Her mother scolds, padding around the kitchen on heavy paws as she gets her little brothers ready for the day, “you’ve been preparing for this your whole life, Litleo. You’re already a good deal older than _some_ of the Pokémon that they let join up. Honestly, you’re going to be fine.”

She shifts a little, coils her tail awkwardly around herself and sighs through her nose.

She wonders if _they_ had more faith, before they started on their path to save the world.

 

\--

 

_Once upon a time a hero was found upon a beach. It was not known where she came from, why she had come from there or even what she was. She just appeared one day, out of nowhere, on the golden sand with the sea rushing gently around her lower body. She was dry, so she did not come from the water. She was unharmed, so she did not fall from the sky. Nobody had seen her in town, not even briefly, so it was summarized that she had not walked._

_She had just appeared, one day. Out of nothing. Out of nowhere._

_“I’ve come to save the world,” was the first coherent sentence she said, when she awoke, and the one who had found her smiled and inclined his head. There was no fear, no uncertainty. They simply joined hands, fixed their eyes upon their unknown purpose and walked firmly on._

_At least, that’s what the stories say._

 

\--

 

Her mother has always been the practical head of the family, making the juggling of four children and the Treasure Town soup kitchen look like an absolute breeze with seemingly little effort, but her father… Oh, her _father_ was always the one who stoked up her dreams.

“I’m going now, dad!” She yells, peeking into his library and inhaling the musky smell of old history. She thinks that she’s spent most of her childhood in here, one way or another – taking in her father’s long tales, letting the history of Chatot and Wigglytuff, Bidoof and Sunflora, Diglett and Loudred, Grovyle, _them_ seep through her skin “…To the guild?”

That, at least, gets a reaction. A pile of scrolls tumble to the floor as her father emerges from beneath them, a rumble of footsteps later and she’s burying her face in his mane – drinking in the old smell of stories and trying to pretend that they do anything to still her pounding heart.

“You’re going to do great,” he tells her comfortingly, takes a step back and gives her his most encouraging smile – that vague one, lost behind glinting glasses and boyhood tales turned into adult obsessions, “you’re going to make me proud, and your mother proud, and _them_ proud. And you’re going to have such fun while you’re doing so!”

She attempts a smile, feels it settle shakily on her face like a mocking reminder that _they_ probably never had to fake any sort of excitement, any sort of happiness, any sort of determination over the roiling terror in their stomachs.

 

\--

 

_Once upon a time the hero and her partner stood on the edge of nowhere. Only mist stretched out in front of them, cool and impassive, and only bare rock waited behind them, hard and featureless. They did not know exactly what waited ahead, but they knew it would be dangerous in the most thrilling sort of way._

_It was raining, but they were not afraid._

_The day was dark, but they were not afraid._

_The path before them seemed hopeless, but they were_ not _afraid._

_“Are you ready for this?” The partner asked the hero thoughtfully, preparing himself with all the wisdom and practice of a Pokémon born to stop and face the dangers that no ordinary one could face._

_“I was born ready for this,” the hero replied casually, and stepped forward with all the bravery and goodness of a Pokémon born to fight and dream and stand between the world and the darkness that waited beyond the brink, “come on, they’re not going to wait all day.”_

_At least, that’s what the stories say._

 

\--

 

It’s sunny, at least, as she takes the long route around the cliffs towards the guild. If it was anything less than perfect, rainy or windy or poisonous from an accidental Koffing swarm, it’d be far too easy to take as an omen – a warning sign, that she really wasn’t cut out for this business and should flee in the other direction as fast as possible.

…It’s still remarkably hard not to take every little sign, every crumble of rock or cry from the sky, as something along those lines, though.

It’s odd to think, as she traipses past woods and sea and the occasional traveller who waves her a cheery hello with their tail, that none of this would’ve existed if it hadn’t been for the actions of _them_. The Pokémon who she wants, so very desperately, to be. That if they hadn’t journeyed bravely into the future, rescued the noble Grovyle, returned to spread the true word to the massed guild, travelled across the Hidden Land, faced down the wicked Dusknoir and restored the sanity of the regal Dialga…

Well.

There would be no cliff, no forest, and certainly no travellers. The sky would not be a vivid blue, but a miserably dull grey. The ground beneath her feet would’ve been featureless ash and the whisper of the wind above it would’ve been stilled forever as if in amber. There would be no time, no space, no life. There would be _nothing_.

She wonders, miserably as she traipses on, if they were nervous about all of that before they did it. If they stopped just before the tipping point, just before the pounding moment where they had to save the world, and wanted to tuck their tails between their legs and run all the way back home.

Probably not, she reflects with a sigh and carries on.

 

\--

 

_Once upon a time the hero and her partner were betrayed by a wicked cruel villain known as Dusknoir. They were tricked and tumbled and taken, and ended up on a barren rock in the middle of the future – the sky silent and dark above them, the world oddly frozen and grey around._

_“This is not the most prepossessing of settings,” the partner commented, giving her a slow glance that held so many layers of meaning that they could barely be unpicked._

_“Have faith,” she declared, and raised her head like the true and queenly hero she was, “we have been in worse.”_

_They walked for days across the dark planes, where no life stirred and no time passed, and faced many wicked demons along the way. There were Sableye with their red jewels and sharp teeth, and falling ravines which could devour even a Donphan, and dark shadowed caves where they had to move ever so slowly for fear of being wiped out entirely. It was wicked, and dark, and cold-_

_And they endured, as bravely as they always had._

_They defeated swathes of Sableye with only the tiniest expansion of effort, and endured. They hopped over those deep dark ravines easily, and endured. They walked through the dark shadows of the caves, heads held high and claws flashing, and they endured! And when they came, after long travails, to the end of the line-_

_“My children,” the goddess Celebi crooned, spreading her arms over them with all the tenderness of a mother, “you have endured, and now you will be rewarded for your trials. I will send you back to the past, with my noble knight Grovyle. And together the three of you shall save the world that I worked so very hard to create…”_

_And they smiled, for their work was good._

_…At least, that’s what the stories say._

 

\--

 

The entrance to the guild is inside a large, brightly coloured tent – just after a rather obvious grille in the centre of the road, just before a slightly intimidating cliff edge. The guild has been based here for generations, and it shows. The latest leader, a Haxorus with golden scales, has erected a large statue of herself to welcome members in – but has been smart enough to let little touches of tradition remain. The trees are exactly those that her father showed her in old etchings, years ago. The path follows much the same layout. To the very side of the tent, in an enclave that everybody is looking for, a statue of a Wigglytuff clutching a Perfect Apple stands proudly.

She stops just before the grille. And takes a deep breath.

Now that she’s here the nerves are worse than ever, an unceasing tremble just beneath her skin. She tries to breathe, but she can’t. She tries to think, but the effort is about as successful. All she can taste is slick terror on her tongue, all she can feel is trembling steadily seeping through her limbs.

This is the place where all the stories of her childhood resided, the place where all of the hopes of her life wait glowing. This is where _they_ arrived one night, mysteriously professional from out of the cold. This is where Wigglytuff welcomed them, with his big booming voice and his kindly glowing eyes. This is where Chatot marshalled the troops, with a flip of his colourful wings and a cry of his kind voice. This is where they ate, where they worked, where they _lived_. This is where they returned to, after they saved the world. This is where they _became_ the ones who saved the world.

She can’t do this.

She remembers the stories, the legends, the whispers and the laughter and her paw straight up in every single history class. She remembers the games in the playground, with her always as one of the dashing heroes and an ever shrinking pool of children as the other colourful players. She remembers opening story books about them on Christmas morning, watching her father acting out the old tales on long winter afternoons, waiting for her bedtime with bated breath just so she could hear how a certain cliffhanger ended. She remembers endless legends and the proud eyes of her father when she decided to apply for a place in the guild. She remembers wanting, hoping, _longing_ -

She _can’t_ do this.

She gulps, once. Turns on her heel, takes in a ragged breath and runs away as fast as possible. 

 

\--

 

_Once upon a time the hero, her partner and the noble Grovyle strode into the guild with a mission. They had just travelled back through time, fast and dangerous, but saw no reason to delay. The world around them was alive and well and perfect - and, besides, they had a duty to fulfil. Not time, nor space, nor any obstacle known to Pokemon could stop them._

_"Wigglytuff!" The hero cried, loud and strident and ringing as those around them stared and whispered behind hands and paws, "we have vital information!"_

_And of course, since the heroes were heroes, the gentle Wigglytuff immediately agreed._

_The partner told their story, in a way that made every single word shine with truth, and afterwards they were given blankets and warm food. They sat, with their justified gifts, and enjoyed them heartily as gentle Wigglytuff and thoughtful Chatot considered the wisdom they have brought. Their faces wrinkled, their hearts anxious, they waited and waited and waited..._

_"But," Chatot said eventually, reluctance at the inevitable question standing out all over his feathered face, "how do we know that you're telling the truth? How do we know that Grovyle isn't a villain, that we _are_ going to have to face this terrible apocalypse?"_

_And the hero, as if waiting for it, drew herself up and smiled - looked shining and golden, exactly the way she always did, "because we say so, and you know that you trust our word."_

_And they didn't have to worry, not really. Gentle Wigglytuff accepted that as fact, and they moved on to their true destiny with few more words._

_At least, that's what the stories say._

 

\--

 

Ever since she was a child the beach has been one of her favourite places. It’s quiet, peaceful. With only the rolling of the waves and the gentle blow of the wind to distract her. She’s sat for hours there, before now – paws tucked beneath her and tail curled around her as she _imagined_. The stories of old, the heroes of legend, the people she’d save when she followed in their footsteps.

There’s a statue of _them_ on the beach, situated just beyond the high tide line. They look happy in the carving, brave. Like the unquestionable heroes that they always were. She settles herself in the shadow of it, where nobody else can see. Tucks her paws beneath her, her tail around her and stares morosely into space.

…She’s a fool.

She’s wanted this all her life, ever since she can remember. Her first word, lisped to a surprised kitchen full of Pokémon, was ‘hero’. She carried around a doll of one of them, the cautiously sensible one who never steered wrong with his council, from the time she left her mother’s side to the time she started school. She knows every story, every fiction, every _truth_. She was dubbed ‘hero-nerd’, laughed at by the other children, praised by all of her teachers with their kind eyes. She should be ready for this, she _should_ be.

…She’s failed.

There’s a shaking under her skin, in her _bones_. She’s never been afraid before, not even when a disgruntled Clawitzer tried to kidnap her as a toddler after her mother angrily refused him service, but she is _now_. She can’t get in a full breath, no matter how hard she tries, and her head is whirling. Not only that but her heart is pounding, her paws are shaking and there’s a little voice in the back of her head sneering at her. She can’t reason, she can’t logic, she can’t _think_. She isn’t ready for this at all, she _isn’t_.

…She’s a _disappointment_.

And so all of those expectations mean nothing, all of those hopes mean _less_ than nothing. Her dreams of becoming a hero, of _helping_ people, have to fade away. Her long held hope of being like _them_ , brave and strong or canny and wise, must stop existing. She won’t save babies from wicked Drowzees (or Munnas, as the case generally is now), she won’t discover strange distant lakes, she _certainly_ won’t have to combat evil forces from the future. She won’t meet legends, fight foes, travel through _time_. She won’t do any of that, she…

A low cough sounds, just to her right.

_She_ -

A pert _grunt_ sounds, still to her right.

…She-

Okay, she can take a hint.

A Froakie is perched by her side, watching her with curious eyes. She swears that she’s never seen him before, not at school or around the town, but he seems oddly familiar nonetheless. She raises her head at the sight of him, frowns slightly in quiet confusion. He only tilts his entire body at her, pops a bubble as if he’s thinking through what her appearance means.

“Hello,” he says eventually.

“Hi,” she offers in return, and tries for a smile – a small one, but still more genuine than anything she’s managed since she woke up, “I… Wasn’t expecting to meet anybody else here, if I’m honest.”

“Neither was I. I was under the impression that this beach was usually fairly quiet,” he remains tilted at her, curiously. She finds that she doesn’t mind it, it reminds her of her father in his more quizzical moods, “I’m Froakie, obviously. Do you come from around here?”

“Litleo, also obviously,” she perks up a little at his tone, raises her head until her body goes along with it – he reminds her of _her_ when she starts ranting about the heroes of old and the stories that nobody pays attention to anymore. She’s always been quite fond of herself, really, “and I’ve lived here all my life, my mother runs the Treasure Town soup kitchen.”

“Ah,” Froakie shifts a little, clears his throat. He reminds her of a scholar… No, of more than a scholar. Of one of the heroes, the thoughtful one who always hung back to come up with the absolutely perfect plan, “I’ve never been, I’m afraid. I only arrived in the area recently, you see. I heard that-“

“The guild was recruiting?” She asks excitedly, and only remembers to be _slightly_ bashful when he glances at her in surprise, “that’s why I’m here, actually. Because I heard that the guild was recruiting and… Yeah.”

“Indeed,” he stares at her for a few seconds longer, thoughtfully – another bubble grows on his lips, blowing into the wind, “isn’t the guild up on top of the cliff, though?”

“Yeah,” she sags a little, as it drifts off – remembers that she’s foolish, and a failure, and a disappointment who will never live up to the heroes of old and will probably have to stay on this beach in eternal humiliation or something “…Yeah. That- that’s part of the problem, really.”

He keeps staring at her for a long few moments, thoughtfully.

…She falls to staring at her paws.

“If you live locally,” but he speaks again eventually, in a kind tone that somehow makes her nerves flinch back to where they came from, and she raises her head to look at him in surprise, “then I assume that you know the history of the statue that you’re sitting under.”

“Oh, _yes_ ,” she cries, her surprise growing and blossoming until it’s a fierce burst of joy in the centre of her chest – much like an ember, just waiting to burst out and teach the bad guys a firm lesson, “they’re the heroes of old, the protectors of legend. They saved the _world_. And vanquished evil, and met legends, and travelled _all_ sorts of places. And they were brave, and bold, and smart, and kind. And they faced _horrible_ dangers in the face and never _once_ trembled. Once upon a time they even met Groudon in a lake-“

“Really?” Froakie interrupts, looking surprised.

“ _Yeah_! But they simply planted their feet and looked him in the eye, and said “Groudon, you fiend, we will not allow you to take these treasures away!” And then Groudon said-“

“In the stories my mother told me, when I was a child, Groudon was just an illusion and the heroes got swept away by the tides the first time they tried to reach him,” Froakie interrupts her again… This time solemnly, a look of odd certainty calm in his eyes, “and they trembled a lot, and were usually terrified, and often just wanted to go home and curl up in their beds.”

Her tale trails to a halt, appalled silence taking it over. She wants to scream, and shout, and defend their reputation. She wants to leap forward with fire gushing from her mouth and fury flaring from her eyes-

“But they never did,” Froakie just continues solemnly, his eyes oblivious as he slowly turns his face up to take in the calm majesty of the statue looming above them, “they were scared pretty much constantly, but they never gave up and they always did the right thing. No matter how terrified they were, no matter how hard it was, no matter how many things were against them - _always_.”

…She falls to staring instead.

“And that’s why I always wanted to be them, when I was a kid,” he smiles a little, glances down at his webbed feet – for the first time he seems something less than a scholar, something closer to her with all her hopes and dreams and determination surging against every single attempt to crush it, “sad, I suppose.”

She stares-

And she frowns.

And she _thinks_.

“Nah,” she offers calmly, and rises to her feet – waves her tail brightly as Froakie looks up in surprise, “I always wanted to be one of them when I was a kid too, it seemed _so_ exciting. Hey, were you planning to go up and join the guild all by yourself? Without anybody else to back you up?”

“I… Hadn’t thought about it that much,” Froakie mumbles, frowns to himself for a moment – and then shakes his head with a wry smile, glances at her as if she’s a safe place to keep a secret, “well, I’d thought about it a _lot_ actually. To the point where I was about to go home after this, rather than face them by myself.”

“Classic mistake,” she sniffs – but lets him see her smile, the conspiratorial flash in her eyes as she leans forward and playfully wags her tail, “I’ve heard that they _eat you alive_ if you go by yourself. So, hey, do you want to go together instead? They’d have a much harder time eating _two_ of us.”

“But weren’t you planning to-?” He catches up with the speed of her thoughts halfway through, stills completely with his mouth popping open and his eyes bulging wide under the force of her grin, “you mean… Form a team? Together? Like the heroes of old?”

She beams. Nods, so hard that her head buzzes a bit afterwards.

“But…” He looks confused, scared, so _hopeful_ that she actually wants to laugh out loud. The emotions flashing across his face are exactly her emotions, exactly her _dreams_ mirrored on blue skin and in anxious bubbles as he glances helplessly around the beach, “you barely _know_ me. What if I mess up?”

“The heroes of old barely knew each other when _they_ started,” she sniffs smugly, and leans in even further – until they’re pressed right up against each other, bosom buddies in the best possible way, “and guess what?”

“…What?”

“ _They_ saved the world!”

He stares at her, in open shock.

…And slowly starts to smile, and slowly starts to laugh, and slowly starts to _nod_ in a way that sends her heart soaring higher than it ever has before, “er, alright. _Alright_. I suppose it could be an adventure, if nothing else!”

And she’s still nervous, but it’s okay. She beams brighter than the brightest day.

 

\--

 

_Once upon a time the hero, her partner and Grovyle stood on a precipice. Behind them waited the world they had to save, green and glowing and so full of life that they could all almost taste it. Before them waited… The unknown – a fight, a struggle, a very high risk of death that hovered over all of them like a poisonous cloud just waiting for its turn._

_“Scared?” Grovyle asked them both (with a knowing smile lurking around his mouth)._

_And the hero raised her chin (and bit her lip, so hard that she almost made her way right through the flesh)._

_And the partner snorted (in terror, his heart pounding so hard that he was pretty sure that it showed on his chest clear for all to see)._

_And they looked at each other…_

_“What do you think?” The Hero asked, her voice trembling, and stepped forward anyway. Terrified, but so determined that it didn’t seem to matter quite as much as it always had before._

_At least, that’s what the stories say (and this time, this time, they’re almost right)._


End file.
